


I Think I'll Save Myself (By Saving You)

by Midnight_inParis



Series: Swan Song [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Ace the Bat-hound will make his way into every story of mine. Just watch, Birthday Presents, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Childhood Memories, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Fluff, Gen, He tries his best okay, Hurt/Comfort, In which the author forgets how to tag because dang its been a minute, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason causes problems sort of on purpose, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Robin Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 20:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30145386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_inParis/pseuds/Midnight_inParis
Summary: “I know it may be hard for you to admit,” Dick started after a few moments of contemplative quiet between the two. “But Jason needs someone who he can believe right now will be there for him unconditionally – I’m not saying he won’t get there eventually with the rest of us.” Dick added, and then let his gaze fall to the floor.“But I remember what it felt like to wonder if all of this,” He gestured to the grandeur of the study, and the manor as a whole, “Was ever just going to disappear suddenly.  And how scary that was."“You never told me you felt unsure about your place here.” Bruce finally spoke.Dick shrugged somewhat helplessly, his posture loose and relaxed in a way that Bruce knew was purely from practice at hiding his unease.“It never seemed relevant to bring up, not at least until you brought home the Mini Cursing Volcano we fondly call Jason.” Dick hooked a thumb in the general direction of the younger boy’s bedroom.-In which on the eve of Jason's thirteenth birthday, Bruce might just find the solution to making Jason believe that he belongs at the Manor too.  With a little four-legged help, that is.
Relationships: Ace the Bat-Hound & Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Series: Swan Song [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/888111
Comments: 6
Kudos: 151





	I Think I'll Save Myself (By Saving You)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone.
> 
> So, no, this isn’t a Sermon update.
> 
> Frankly, I’ve been stuck with Sermon for a while. After the sort of lack of response to the last chapter, I lost of a bit of momentum. Not to mention I’ve had a few huge changes in my personal life.
> 
> But I needed to write something to get the creative gears turning again, into this snippet.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy
> 
> \--
> 
> Come say hi!:  
> Tumblr: sermonfic.tumblr.com
> 
> Instagram: Midnight_inparis_insta

It was too early for this.

And considering Bruce Wayne had practically invented the term _early riser_ , that was saying something.

“Master Jason,” He could hear Alfred pleading softly as he reached up to rub at his tired eyes. “Would you please come out from under there?”

Dick, from his place leaning against the doorframe of Jason’s bedroom, couldn’t contain a scoff.

“ _Please_ doesn’t work on the clinically stubborn, Alfie.”

From under the four-poster, a squeaky snarl emerged; “ _Bite me, why don’t you?_ ”

“Do not start that.” Bruce cut in, leveling an exhausted sort of glare at Dick.

The teenager – the only one of the children in the manor _visible_ , at moment – simply shrugged and kicked his flannel-clad pant leg out in a swinging motion, the shadow of it darting across the ground as light spilled in from the hallway.

“If he hadn’t decided to pull a disappearing act at _three a.m. on a Thursday_ , I wouldn’t.”

It was _far_ too early for this.

Bruce had returned from a fairly routine patrol expecting a sleepy, quiet household waiting for him. He had shut down one of Penguin’s schemes to break into the Gotham City Mint in record time [turns out beak-shaped drills weren’t the most functionally sound gadgets to use when attempting a heist] and had broken up two major arms deals [shockingly, unrelated] down by the docks before calling it a night.

All in all, it had been a mostly quiet evening.

Which was where he should have recognized the sign of oncoming doom.

Dick, who had been benched from patrol due to a nasty concussion thanks to a chance swing from Harley’s mallet, had met him at the end of the Batmobile’s docking bay when he returned, in rumpled pajamas with a frantic look on his face.

“It’s Jason,” He had answered, before Bruce could even raise a question as to what he was doing out of bed at such an hour, “We can’t find him.”

Following possibly the _fastest_ costume change of his life, Bruce had bolted up the stairs into the manor with Dick hot on his trail to find Alfred, dressed in his night robe and slippers, at the foot of the grand staircase.

“I had gone in to check on him, sir.” The butler had explained, “but his bed was empty, and I have checked all accessible rooms in the manor to no avail.”

“Let’s double check the usual places, then regroup back at his bedroom.” Bruce decided, and the group split once again.

Since Jason had arrived at the manor a year previous, Alfred and Bruce had learned fairly quickly that all rooms not inhabited or communal were to be locked or otherwise barred from entry in order to avoid the terrified then-eleven-year-old succumbing to his self-preservation instincts and hiding away in the massive estate’s staggering amount of rooms whenever he felt scared.

Which, as evidence by the three inhabitances of the manor moving on autopilot searching Jason’s _usual_ hiding spots, was not an uncommon occurrence.

Bruce had thought that _surely_ they should have been past the stage of adjustment where Jason spooked and attempted to rabbit in the middle of the night. Every book, medical journal and article he had read on rehabilitating a child from neglect or abuse had stressed the importance of _time_ in the healing process.

But it had been over a year since he had brought Jason to the manor and every time he felt they had taken three steps forward; it was as if they simultaneously took seven steps back.

The lack of progress, while not only frustrating, worried away at Bruce’s anxieties about Jason’s mental state. There was a wall where Bruce was not accustomed to finding one – something he couldn’t break down with his fists or his intellect alone. He was growing closer and closer to the disturbing conclusion that Jason would be best helped by someone _other_ than himself.

Bruce, trying his best to ignore those thoughts, was in the middle of checking behind the TV stand in the media room when Dick poked his head in, his previously worried look replaced with a tired grimace.

“Alfie found him. And you’re not gonna believe this one.”

The teenager led him back up the stairs and stomped his way back into Jason’s bedroom, where Bruce found Alfred on his hands and knees, peering under the bed.

Alfred looked up when they entered, his mustache twitching in silent displeasure as Bruce gestured in question to the space under the bed.

After an affirming nod from the Englishman, Bruce crouched down and lifted the bed skirt to look into the semi-darkness.

Curled into a crude ball against the far end of the bedframe, two wide, panicked eyes stared up him from under a tangled blanket.

“He was here the whole time.” The seventeen-year-old griped again from the doorway. “He heard Alfie calling him and everything and he let us run around _looking_ for him like idiots.”

“Master Dick, please.” Alfred tempered softly.

“It’s almost four a.m.! We practically tore the house apart thinking he had run off or gotten kidnapped and he was _here the whole time!_ ”

“ _Dick._ ” Bruce barked. “You’re not helping.”

“ _Just go away!_ ” Came a muffled shout from the lump-in-the-darkness-known-as-Jason. “I want to be left alone!”

But with the way his voice cracked and wobbled at the end of his declaration, Bruce figured that was exactly the opposite of what Jason wanted.

So began the half an hour of coaxing the twelve-year-old out from under the bed, which ultimately was achieved by Alfred ousting Bruce and Dick from the room unceremoniously.

The original Dynamic Duo left to wait, exhausted, in the study, for Alfred to get Jason back into bed and asleep.

“He still doesn’t trust us.”

Bruce set down the book he had been reading [ _When Love Is Not Enough: A Guide to Parenting With RAD-Reactive Attachment Disorder -_ Clark had dropped it off after a colleague at the Planet had reviewed it for their Best Seller’s list, so far he was unimpressed with the publisher and more than a little disturbed at the author’s cadence, but for some reason couldn’t stop reading] to Dick lounging sideways in one of the massive armchairs, his eyes closed.

“He’s getting there. He just needs time.” Bruce heard himself parrot the words Alfred, Leslie, and nearly every child psychologist he had taken Jason to throw at him on repeat; “He just needs time.”

“Bruce,” Dick deadpanned, sitting up properly and leveling a flat glare at his guardian, “Jason needs more than just time. He needs someone he can talk to.”

“He refuses to talk to any therapist with the needed security clearance to speak to him.” Bruce said, a little petulantly. _Not for lack of trying_ , he added silently.

“I’m not talking about Dinah. We all remember how well _that_ went.” Dick rolled his eyes in the vicious way only a seventeen-year-old could manage. “That’s just another adult telling him things he doesn’t believe. He needs someone he can level with.”

“Jason knows he can be honest with me.” The staunch defensiveness in Bruce’s tone earned him another eye roll.

“He can’t level with _you_ – yet.” He added hastily at the hurt expression on the elder vigilante’s face. “You helped him, and you’re trying to make things better, but at the end of the day you’re still the thing that had lied to him and put him in danger for most of his life – an _adult_.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at his ward, realization hitting him suddenly.

“I’m not letting you take Jason to meet the Titans.”

Dick groaned and slumped back into the armchair.

“Oh come on, Bruce, you have to let up on this _sometime_ – He’s gonna be thirteen in like, a week, and the only social interaction he’s had since he got here have been with you, me, Barbara, Alfie and sometimes Leslie or Clark. _Adults_. Jason needs other kids!”

“He isn’t ready.” Bruce said firmly. “He’s barely recovered physically from his time on Park Row,” He couldn’t help the cocktail of anger and sadness that overtook his voice thinking of Jason, all alone and on the street. “And if he meets the Titans, he’ll see it as an avenue to jump into being Robin.”

 _That_ was a discussion that Bruce had put his foot down about tabling until Jason was physically in a better place, as well as mentally.

“I’m not saying the _whole_ team, but Terra and Beast Boy are around his age, and he needs some sort of third-party interaction in his life – he needs someone in _his_ corner without conflicting loyalties to you.”

“And introducing him to members of a team _you_ lead is any better?” He shot back.

Dick looked ready to protest, but after a moment his jaw snapped shut and he fell into a frustrated silence.

“I know it may be hard for you to admit,” He started after a few moments of contemplative quiet between the two. “But Jason needs someone who he can believe _right now_ will be there for him unconditionally – I’m not saying he won’t get there eventually with the rest of us.” Dick added, and then let his gaze fall to the floor.

“But I remember what it felt like to wonder if all of this,” He gestured to the grandeur of the study, and the manor as a whole, “Was ever just going to disappear suddenly. And how scary that was. And it wasn’t until I had Robin and met Wally and Speedy that I finally _knew_ it wasn’t.”

The Wayne Patriarch said nothing, simply folded his hands in front of his mouth and studied his young ward.

Dick’s transition into the manor – while no less traumatic – had been remarkably smoother than Jason’s. Bruce tried not to compare the two often, as he refused to dissolve into the “Golden Child” narrative so many of the parenting books warned about, but it was hard not to look back in longing hindsight at how Dick had eased into life at Wayne Manor.

There had been bumps, but nothing like what they were all still experiencing with Jason a year down the road.

“You never told me you felt unsure about your place here.” Bruce finally spoke.

Dick shrugged somewhat helplessly, his posture loose and relaxed in a way that Bruce knew was purely from practice at hiding his unease.

“It never seemed relevant to bring up, not at least until you brought home the Mini Cursing Volcano we fondly call Jason.” Dick hooked a thumb in the general direction of the younger boy’s bedroom.

“I wish you would have told me,” Bruce said quietly. “I could’ve helped you sooner, reassured you.”

At this, Dick waved him off in a genuine motion.

“You gave me plenty of that, but it wasn’t all I needed. I needed my friends – something that was my own here.”

Before Dick could go further with that, the clock above the mantle chimed five times in a row, signaling five a.m. had rolled around.

Dick groaned and wiped a hand down his face.

“That’s it, I’m going back to bed. And you had _better_ make sure Jason doesn’t eat all the bacon tomorrow at breakfast before I get down there, or I’ll give him a real reason to hide under the bed.” The seventeen-year-old yawned.

With that, the acrobat bid him a sleepy goodnight and departed the study, leaving Bruce in the quiet pre-dawn with only his thoughts.

He looked back down at the book in his hands and after a moment of uselessly telling himself he could continue on, threw it carelessly to the side.

Despite his now decades-long training in the accuracy of throwing things – he still managed to miss his intended target of the end table and instead knock over the stack of other child psychology books he had accumulated next to his desk.

“Damn it all.” Bruce cursed, standing from the armchair to shuffle over to the mess of books now strewn about the floor.

He was carefully re-stacking the pile when one of the books that had fallen pages-side open caught his eye.

The vigilante picked up the hardcover and peered down at the picture taking up most of the page.

A young boy was climbing out of a pond, laughing as he toweled off on the dock. At his side was a black Labrador Retriever, frozen mid-shake, sending water flying all over the boy.

The title on the opposite page read in large, bolded font; **_Companion Animals and Child/Adolescent Development: A Systematic Review of the Evidence._**

Bruce turned his gaze back on the picture of the young boy. His face held a simple, weightless joy that Bruce could admit to himself he had never witnessed on Jason’s face.

He could feel the wheels turning rapidly in his own brain, and quickly dog-eared the page before closing the book and setting it on his desk lightly.

Soon he found himself sitting in front of the gargantuan monitors of the Batcomputer in Cave and got to work.

* * *

In total, it took roughly six days to pull all the preparations together.

It had taken one day entirely to get Alfred on board, but after much cajoling and convincing, the Englishman relented and aided Bruce’s quest. Having Alfred’s help was a great assistance in the stealth department, and Bruce caught Dick up to speed after he caught him hiding some questionable purchases in the Batcave.

On the morning of August sixteenth, Bruce slipped out of the dining room just in time to catch Jason stumble downstairs, yawning and still in his pajamas.

“Morning, Jason.” He greeted the youngest member of the household.

Jason, his hair mussed from sleep, croaked something that was probably a “ _Morning, B_.” before starting in the direction of the kitchen.

“Jason,” Bruce called, and when the boy paused, turning back to him, he gestured back towards the heavy doors behind him. “We’re actually having breakfast in the dining room today.”

“Why?” His question was sharp from someone who had a moment prior seemed barely conscious, and his eyes were narrowed in suspicion – no trace of sleep left in them. The norm in the household was that breakfast was served in the kitchen. Leave it to Jason to immediately be on alert when the routine deviated.

Bruce fought valiantly against a smile, his own anticipation clawing its way up his throat.

“There’s a surprise for you.”

Jason went from suspicious to wary in a split second. He peered around Bruce at the dark oak doors accusingly, as if they’d speak and tell him what possible doom was waiting for him inside.

“I don’t like surprises.” He said slowly, eyes darting between Bruce and the doors.

Bruce refused to let himself slip into morose thoughts on that statement – instead he inclined his head towards the dining room again.

“I have a feeling you might like this one.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, an invisible tug of war that eventually ended with Jason dropping his gaze to the floor.

“Do I have to close my eyes or something?” He grumbled, and had Bruce’s resolve cracked, he would have slumped to the ground in relief.

“No, you can keep your eyes wide open.”

Bruce let Jason enter first, inching into the room like a frightened mouse waiting to be pounced on.

Inside, Dick and Alfred were standing next to the large bay windows, each holding a mug of something steaming.

“Good morning, Master Jason.” Alfred greeted him, setting down his mug and moving to pull out a chair for Jason at the head of the table.

“Morning, Alfie.” He returned slowly, settling into the chair.

Dick sat down across from him, badly trying to conceal a smile. “Morning, Little Wing.”

Before Jason could interrogate the older boy, Alfred reappeared with a large brown box, which he placed in front of Jason with gentle care. It had handles at the top and several, pre-cut holes in the sides.

Jason eyed it with palpable trepidation and glanced back at Bruce.

“Go on,” the billionaire encouraged, “See what’s inside.”

The black-haired boy took another moment to scrutinize Bruce for any clues, but soon realized the only way to find out was to confront the looming unknown head on.

Jason tentatively leaned forward and peered into the semi-darkness of the box’s interior through one of the holes.

And then the box _moved_.

Jason choked on a gasp and jerked away, watching as the contents of the box settled and fell still again, only for a quiet, shrill whine to echo out.

The rest of the room watched intently as Jason slowly approached the box again, this time grasping the folded down flaps of the lid and carefully opened it.

Inside, blinking up at him with a red ribbon tied around it’s neck, was a dog. A German Shepherd puppy, to be exact.

Jason and the fluffy creature stared at each other, both seeming equally shocked at their strange introduction before the puppy promptly forgot its uncertainty and leaped up to rest its paws on the lip of the box.

“Oh!” Jason gasped and scrambled to grab onto the wriggling puppy before it could topple out of its cardboard crate.

That was really all invitation the young canine needed to muster its way out of the box and firmly into Jason’s arms, finding great interest in giving Jason’s face a good wash with its tongue.

“Happy Birthday, Jason.”

Jason turned at Bruce’s words, his eyes wide as he stared at them in shock.

“I don’t…” Jason whispered, unphased by the puppy still happily showering him with slobbery kisses.

“A young man only turns thirteen once.” Alfred spoke up this time, followed shortly by Dick;

“Yeah, and we figured this made up for missing your birthday last year.”

He thankfully edited out the part where Jason had refused to _tell them_ when his birthday was, and it was only after Alfred found his birth certificate in the sorry excuse for files CPS had produced on Jason, they had discovered that it had already passed.

Jason stayed quiet, turning his gaze back onto the puppy who had placed his face into the crook of Jason’s neck.

Suddenly, and to the rising panic of all adults in the room, Jason’s shoulders began to tremble.

The puppy lifted its head, feeling the disturbance in its chosen napping place, and began to dutifully lick the salty tear tracks that made their way down Jason’s cheeks. Soft, hiccupping sobs escaped his lips before Jason dissolved into full blown tears, his cries violent and jagged as he held the small creature.

Bruce felt like someone had poured ice water down his shirt – his mind raced as he furiously tried to figure out what had caused such a violent emotional response; was Jason afraid of dogs? He had never mentioned a phobia of such a kind, but then again how could he have known to ask? A quick glance at Alfred and Dick confirmed that neither of them had expected such a reaction either.

He was half a second from ripping the offending canine out of Jason’s grasp and begging for forgiveness when the thirteen-year-old turned back to them, clutching the puppy for dear life.

“Thank you.” He warbled through his tears. “ _Thank you_.” He repeated before tucking his face back into the puppy’s fur.

At once, the tension in the room dissipated. Bruce suddenly felt like crying himself in relief.

The puppy, however, had seemingly run out of patience for staying so still, and began to wriggle its way towards the floor.

Jason obliged, his composure slowly returning as he let the fluffy mass out of his arms and onto the carpet.

“What’s his name?”

Bruce approached, dropping to sit back on his heels as the puppy trotted up to inspect him.

“The woman at the rescue told me they hadn’t picked one out for him yet.”

Jason looked up quizzically at this, and Bruce was glad to see the tears had slowed to a soft trickle. 

“How can he not have a name?” He questioned.

“They told me he hadn’t been at the shelter very long – someone found him in a shoebox and brought him in a week ago. She thinks he was probably the runt of the litter because of his size, and whoever owned the mother didn’t want to deal with him.” Bruce explained, extending his hand for the little dog to sniff as he made a wide arch around Jason, exploring.

“Aren’t the runts the weakest ones?” Jason asked softly.

“They’re the smallest,” Dick piped up. “But only when they’re born. If they get enough care, they grow up like any other puppy.”

“Master Dick is correct,” Alfred added at Jason’s skeptical look. “While the runts of the litter are usually born small and sometimes frail, they simply require a bit more care than other puppies. Once they receive that, they become just as healthy and capable as their littermates.”

Jason stared down at the puppy in wonder as it inspected the leg of his pajama pants.

“And, you think I can do that? Make him better?” He asked, almost shyly.

Bruce reached out to gently pick up the little fluffball, who squirmed and wiggled until he placed him into Jason’s arms.

“I’m not one for poker, but I can’t think of a single person I’d rather put my chips on for this job than you.”

It was small enough that had he not been paying attention; Bruce likely would have missed it. But at Jason adjusted his hold on the puppy, the vigilante saw, for what was likely the first time, a small genuine smile inch its way across Jason’s lips.

It wasn’t an instant fix to all their problems, but it was the first stone fallen in the long battle to break down the walls Jason had built around himself.

“So,” Bruce started, “What do you want to name him?”

Jason looked down at the puppy again, who stared up at him with a surprisingly determined look in his big, brown eyes. Like he already had something up his sleeve.

He thought back to what Bruce had said, about putting all his chips on him.

Jason looked up with a grin that could've parted the clouds on a rainy day.

“Ace.” Jason said. “His name’s Ace.”

**Author's Note:**

> This took me a surprising amount of time to finish.
> 
> I took a lot on inspiration from the fact that I recently adopted a German Shepherd mix myself! My very own Ace lol.
> 
> Thanks for reading, see you in the next chapter of Sermon!
> 
> -R


End file.
